


What He Should Have Said

by Lunchcase



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Episode Fix-It: s03e03 His Last Vow, F/F, Fluff, His Last Vow, M/M, literally me stuffing all my favourite pairings for this show into one mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 11:30:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9383093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunchcase/pseuds/Lunchcase
Summary: A kind of fix-it fic for the end of His Last Vow, where they're saying goodbye by the plane. Sherlock's actually a girl's name?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nocturnal_Silver_Wolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nocturnal_Silver_Wolf/gifts).



> Because she's currently writing some important cover letters, and also Happy Birthday (because might as well)!!! I was going to post this after you've watched the last ep in s4, but it doesn't matter anyway and I've been wanting to let this go (this is why I didn't let you hang up). For all the people out there who watched TFP and hated it, here's something back from simpler times.

“John, there’s something ... I should say; I’ve meant to say always and then never have. Since it’s unlikely we’ll ever meet again, I might as well say it now.” 

Sherlock frowns at his shoes, at the concrete pavement on the floor, at how one is solidly connected with the other and yet he doesn’t feel at all connected to anything. Except John. He has, and always will be, connected to John Watson, and right now he can feel John staring at him, as he had many times before. The familiarity of that action resonates deep into his bones and gives him courage. John always keeps him right. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. It doesn’t matter anymore, what happens after.

“I love you.” 

Maybe his face shouldn’t have been so rigid while finally saying the words he had rehearsed over and over in his head during his years of absence. Maybe he shouldn’t have mumbled it out so quickly; this phrase he had grasped on to like a secular prayer when he was in the darkest period of his life. Maybe… Well, maybe many things, like how maybe he should have expressed it earlier before everything went to hell, but here they are now: one of them married to an ex-assassin, the other about to fly off in a plane he most likely will not be getting off alive. Regardless, he had said what he wanted – _needed_ – to say, and it has been two minutes now since he’s said it. John has yet to react.

John’s usually expressive face seems to have frozen in place. He’s staring at Sherlock like he was still waiting for him to say something, as if he hadn’t heard him the first crucial time. Perhaps that’s true, John does seem to need repetition occasionally, and as much as Sherlock abhorred repeating, he doesn’t mind doing it for him. Frowning, a bit worried, he started again. “John? I lov-“

“Love, me?” John finally seems to have snapped out of his haze. Sherlock watches, fascinated as always, as his precious blogger turns his stare into raised eyebrows of shock, and then settles them into a furrowed position. He’s frowning. Of confusion? Displeasure? Doesn’t matter, it’s time to go. 

“Yes. I’m afraid the plane can’t wait any longer. To the very best of times, John.” He says all this much too quickly. He stretches his hand out for last contact. The last time he’ll get to feel John, to have him physically there. John’s head moves backwards, physically retreating from that reach. He stares at Sherlock’s outstretched hand and frowns at that too. He looks back up at Sherlock, and something must’ve been on his face because John’s own face softens like that time Sherlock accidentally drank eyeball tea, or the time his face fell flat on his food because he’s gone too long without sleeping or eating again. 

“No. No. No, no.” John says, and Sherlock’s arm is getting tired but he doesn’t pull away. John looks behind Sherlock, to where the rest were all standing by the stairs of the plane that was about to take this extraordinary man away. The extraordinary man who just said the extraordinary thing that he’s been dreaming to hear for an extraordinarily long time. Mycroft, looking on disinterestedly as always, worrying away. Mary – Mary’s looking at them too, carrying his child. Mary catches his gaze, confusion and worry in her lovely eyes. It’s not enough though. He looks back at Sherlock, hears those words again in his mind, and everything else fades away. In one smooth action he grabs Sherlock’s hand, pulls him close, goes on his tip toes and pretty much smashes their lips together.


	2. Chapter 2

Mary gasps. Her eyebrows shoot up, her eyes go wide, and her mouth is slightly ajar. She settles down eventually, because she had always known, somewhere, deep down. She wasn’t certain if the two were ever going to be brave enough to get to this stage, and it’s a shame it’s taking another departure from each other for this to finally happen, but she mulls it over and concludes that Sherlock deserves this, and frankly so does John. She can’t find any anger within her and ends up smiling wistfully at them. 

Mycroft, on the other hand, is as shocked as one will ever find him in public. His eyebrows are raised almost to his receding hairline and it is only the decades of façade and hiding that’s keeping his mouth shut tight. He didn’t expect his dear baby brother to actually say it. Not even bothering with discreet, he immediately pulls out his mobile and snaps a photo. Gregory is going to want to see this. Probably wants copies too, for his wallet and his desk. He can already hear him excitedly demanding for all the details as they discuss this at length on his comfy sitting room couch. And it would be wise to prepare a copy for Mrs Hudson, to earn some of her good graces. A Christmas card, that’s it. Also, don’t forget one each for their parents. 

Later, he would go through the whole footage on all the CCTV cameras near by. He wouldn’t know it, but Anthea would get herself a copy, and so would Irene Adler. When Molly sees the photo, she sighs, and when Irene catches her doing that she pecks her on the cheek until the photo, to Molly, becomes just another of her best friends finding happiness within each other. When Anthea shows Sally the photo, Sally kisses her back and proceeds to win the bet going around the force. Later, much later, when the dust is cleared and those two are happily together, Greg would find his wallet stolen one day after a case with the Consulting Detectives and brought back the next, with everything in place except his ID and this photo. He gets a new one of course, since they have tons of back up copies, and that gets taken too. The third time he replaces it, it stays, and when he gets back home and mentions this to Mycroft, he finds out their home has been broken into by said Consulting Detectives who were determined to find the footage of their kiss. They laugh about it, and share a kiss of their own, probably. 

Here and now, however, John finally releases Sherlock but keeps his hands on him – one still holding Sherlock’s hand, the other gently resting on his left cheek. “I’m angry we chose this moment for this to happen, but. Thank you.” John is smiling softly up at Sherlock with so much affection and sorrow they both feel like collapsing. 

“I believe you are the one that calls me an idiot, and you’re not always wrong.” Sherlock’s smiling too, with the look of someone happily dazed. Not for long, however, as the memory of the plane and the East Wind drifts back into his mind. His face gradually loses the newly gained light and John misses it already. There was only one thing left to say, really. 

“Sherlock,” his mouth opens and closes and opens again. “I love you too, Sherlock.” Sherlock, the loved one in question, is now the one frozen in place, and now he doesn’t blame John for reacting the same way. Inside, the heart he’s been ignoring physically aches and _hurts_ as the words swirl and cement themselves into the John’s Room of his mind palace. He doesn’t know how to leave now that there’s so much to stay for. 

“Sherlock,” his brother’s voice calls from some place that feels very distant, but was suddenly right next to him. Mycroft hands him his phone. 

“Sherlock!” Greg’s voice calls on the other end. “Listen to this.” There was a shuffling noise, and then all he can hear is Moriarty going Miss Me Miss Me Miss Me and it was all too much. He looks at John and absorbs the comforting worry he sees in his eyes. “It’s everywhere; every screen in London. I thought he was dead?” 

“He is.” 

“Who is?” John asks him. Sherlock hands him the phone, and after a few seconds John goes a bit pale.

“Well, little brother, looks like you’re staying here after all.” There was a definite smirk in the elder Holmes’s voice, which only grew when Mary approached them, resolutely ignoring what just happened between John and Sherlock. 

“What’s happened?” 

Sherlock looks at John, John looks at Sherlock, and the connection that links them both sparks with energy. This was all getting a bit ridiculous, frankly, and there’s going to be a lot of repercussions for their actions just now. Lots of discussions in their future. Right now, however, they both focus on the exact same thing. 

“Well, John,” Sherlock started, straightening and flipping up his coat collar. John described that as cool, once. John snorts at the motion and straightens himself, back to the posture of a soldier. Sherlock tries not too preen, and fails. “Looks like the-“

“-game is on.” John cuts in, and begins marching forward to the waiting black car. Sherlock stares after him for a second, flabbergasted, amused, and mildly offended, before swirling his coat as he turns to catch up with his Doctor Watson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> This fic is me stuffing all the pairings I like best into one fic, heedless of the fact it may be getting a little much. I've had this idea for awhile but it just never bore any fruit until I had to sit myself down and write an essay on Darwinism. Don't know what I'm doing, thanks for reading to this point! 
> 
> (lmao @ Nocturnal)


End file.
